Mid thirties, Genderqueer, any pronouns. Media obsession and personal writings, mostly about kink and non monogamy. NSFT text. Call me Hank. Hot tender tragic etc.
took some space to just, be sad tonight, away from everyone including the Lover. Trying not to be too devastated and keep in mind the inherent comedy of crying over my cancelled gangbang as I set the rivets on my handmand leather pup mask. Nice problems to have, right?
Eridian OC named THINGS. She is in charge of miscellaneous items in Grace's biodome and gets MAD AS HELL when he doesn't ask her for stuff.
Transcript/video description:
A puppet eridian from Project Hail Mary. She is about the size of a small cat. She is bright pink with orange spots and covered around her carapace and arms with bead bracelets, bells and random things like strips of duct tape and plastic.
As she is moved, the bells on the puppet are jingling constantly
Transcript: 'SAVIOR GRACE HATE THINGS, QUESTION? WILL NOT LET THINGS MAKE THINGS, QUESTION? THINGS IS NAMED THINGS! LET THINGS MAKE THINGS! YOU! YOU NEED NEW GLASSES FOR SEE UNDERWATER. THINGS MAKE! YOU ASK! FUCK!'
Couple of days before my birthday gangbang and there is still. So many things to do.
If only I could get bonus marks for the Group Work Facilitation class I did this semester for the amount of planning and prep I am doing for this particular group experience!!
Rehabbing a feral kitty feels extremely healing. It's okay, baby, I'm not gonna hit or kick you. I'll only grab you if you're in danger. Yes, there's always safe food and clean water, and you don't have to hide to eat it. You can always eat til you're full. The bed is soft and warm, and you can sleep on it as long as you want. I can pet you if you let me, if you want, and it'll feel really nice, especially once you relax into it. Once you're not scared something else is going to happen. Isn't that nice? It's warm and safe in here, and it's not a trick, there's no secret cost. Nothing to be afraid of. It's okay if you don't trust me yet, I'll wait for as long as it takes. I should be so lucky to earn it, patiently, unconditionally. Whenever you're ready.
What really strikes me is the inability to play. Unable to relax, unable to enjoy herself. Quickly overstimulated, lashing out like she's in danger, only after a few frantic minutes of fun. Like it's a limited resource. Like someone's going to get her for letting go, just a bit, for even a moment. Everything has been life or death for so long, she can only play briefly before she's scared of what I might do to her or what might happen next. She runs away and hides, bristling and wide-eyed, after a few minutes of gentle play no matter how safe I make things. She can't help it. She's been taught to survive this way. When's the other shoe going to drop?
But she decompresses eventually, creeping back over, suspicious but driven by instinct to play and socialize. Maybe taught that the price for lashing out in panic is too high, that maybe it's just safer to sit alone out of reach, but so desperate to connect, to relax, to be safe. If she'll try again, then I will, too, again, and again, and again. As much as she'll let me, only as fast as she can manage. And sometimes I still overshoot, a little too hard or fast, and I pay with some backsliding. No matter how harmless my gesture, if I scare her, I can't help that some fragile trust has broken anyway. But I patiently show her it is still safe. That we can learn together what feels okay even if we both mess up sometimes. That it's okay to want to play, to seek out help or comfort, to ask for more. It's worth it to keep trying, I'm showing her. It's worth it, you have to believe me, I promise. Please don't give up. Let's try again, okay?
This is about my relationship with myself! Before reparenting was possible, I had to rehab my feral heart. No one could do it for me, even if I deserved that unconditional safety while young. I had to bust my ass, but I taught myself it's my right to be safe and I have to keep trying! Help from others wasn't ever going to be sufficient. Only you can give you the type of consistent, gentle safety that will teach you to live with yourself now. It breaks my heart because she is me before I could do that for myself!
You have no choice but to feed boiled chicken breast to the feral cat under the porch in your heart. No one should've kicked your heart-cat until it learned to fear footsteps. You never, ever deserved that. But no one else except you can reach it now! Squat motionless in the cold until it learns to warily, angrily, eat in arm's reach of you. Until it deigns to let you pet it. Until it enters your home of its own volition. Until it can feel safe in your arms. Or else your heart will go hungry beneath the porch without even a warm place to die.
I saw this when running newpipe. But wait, it gets deeper. I clicked on the details buttons and it said as of today, we have 83 days left until Google rolls out this new requirement for apps inside and outside of the google play store. If any developer disagrees with their new terms and fees, they will be blocked!
I'll share some of the info below:
Looks like they're trying to nuke the remaining privacy and freedoms we have left on the internet.
What to do?
-Get your developer friends to not comply to their new guides
- Sign the open letter on the site and take action by checking out the full resources list on their website as well!
To summarize, this is all daunting especially when you feel all alone with unfair and inhumane regulations comming out faster than improvements but we got this working together!
Share the link with your friends, family and anyone who will listen!
Your phone is about to stop being yours. In September 2026, Google will block every Android app whose developer hasn't registered with them.
404 has been knocking it out of the park since they started. Please support their original reporting on this! If you subscribe to nothing else I highly recommend them. Their podcast is great too.
Planning documents for "Scout" say the plan is to "make people addicted" to the tool before adding new features.
Couple of days before my birthday gangbang and there is still. So many things to do.
If only I could get bonus marks for the Group Work Facilitation class I did this semester for the amount of planning and prep I am doing for this particular group experience!!
One of my juiciest, darkest CNC fantasies is domming a kidnapping scene in which I shave my sub's head, preferably whilst they're crying and begging me not to.
The control. The complete and utter debasement. The willingness to take a consequence of a kink scene and carry it out with them into the real world, like a bite or bruise but so much more noticeable. RRRRRRHGH obsessed.
It's a real bucket list item but obvs not something a lot of ppl are willing to go into. The Lover (who has hair past their shoulders) said "maybe one day." if it does end up happening I might even hire a van, make a reeeeal occasion of it.
This kind of response to things I say about sex work, which isn't always phrased like this but almost always focuses on me being male or a man or my pronouns, shows a fundamental misunderstanding of why mansplaining is bad.
I am a sex worker. I have been for a decade. The majority of people I know are sex workers and I'm embedded in sex worker community. I started before 18 and have done it in brothels, cars, my own home, clients' homes, saunas, and hotels.
It's absolutely reasonable to criticize men who speak on issues they don't experience like an authority, especially when they speak over women to do it. It is not reasonable to raise someone's gender (or in this case, pronouns) as a reason their thoughts aren't worth hearing when the issue is one they do face.
I see people bringing up that I'm trans in response to things like this, as a way to legitimize my speech. The reason I refuse to do so, despite many of my experiences selling sex being pre-transition, is that I equally do not want cis men who have done sex work to be silenced on the topic.
We need more active and former sex workers to speak out. That won't happen if we're dismissing those who do.
she's platonic about it but in my opinion, stratt 100% treats grace as her dead wife. she keeps a tacky fox trinket in her coat pocket. there's a framed photo of him in her study . he's grinning goofily in it (bc he's a dork). new guy like: is that her husband? / no, dumbass, it's dr. ryland grace, 1/3 of the hail mary mission. / oh, fuck. were they... ? / yeah, it's unclear. black-and-white montages of grace messing around in high-level meetings play every time stratt contemplates committing more environmental crimes. she looks up at the night sky and vaguely wonders if he's enjoying his space ramen. that's her dead wife. she killed him.
Pick one of James Baldwin's works and read it!!! The Fire Next Time is an excellent essay, most of us are familiar with the quote on gay white people from The Last Interview but not the rest of it. If Beale Street Could Talk even has a movie!
hey here's a website for downloading any video or image from any website.
works w/ youtube, soundcloud, twitch, twitter (gifs and videos), tumblr (video and audio), and most other websites you're probably lookin to download stuff off of.
for anyone wondering about privacy and whatnot, i'm happy to say that the developers are pretty committed to have 0 trackers and 0 data retention. you can read more in their "about" section, but here's the basic important stuff:
Eee last night the Lover and I got to do the oft-joked about scene of "what if we were both pets at the same time?" When I'm a sub for petplay I'm Puppy and they're Bunny, so we decided to play it like "Daddy has given their horny mutt a bunny to fuck, even if the bunny is a bit confused about it."
Lots of biting and growling, pushing and tickling, and them calling me a bad dog for trying to fuck them, which was HILARIOUS because I don't think I've ever been called bad dog in-scene before. The interplay was so silly and funny. In one moment I got a little bit too in-character and bit them on the face, which whilst not a hard limit is certainly not a regular part of our play, and I shocked myself with it in a way that immediately made me drop character and check in.
Obsessed the Lover. Obsessed with the way they got all feral with their need to fuck me when the blood from the needleplay punctures dripped into my cunt.
We built such a fun switchy scene out of it. They asked me how I wanted to feel receiving the needles, and I felt into it, answered "Precious. Worshipped."
When we first started dating, needles was the one thing on my list they said "no thank you," to. 18 months later, they've put in the work to learn both sides of the needle switch, no small effort for the level of technicality the kink involves. So when they stab me, I don't feel subby or tortured. Despite the pain, I feel served. I feel treated, and loved, that they would feel into the edge of their boundary and step past it with me.
When I told them I wanted to feel precious, they asked "can I call you my Divine?" and I immediately teared up so, yes yes of course yes.
We played with me calling them supplicant, acolyte, precious worshiper. They knelt and asked permission to touch me, penetrate me, and I held the power as they massaged and caressed, even as I pulled them up to sit on my face and lap at their cunt. We settled and handed the thing between us, slick and pearlescent, that unfathomable switch divide back and forth as I ordered them to mark me, hurt me.
I whimpered, helpless to their love as they put a set of circles, drawn in 44 needles, on one buttock. Zinging, incandescent pain, brighter the closer it curved to my spine and tailbone, divine suffering and tears around the sensitive sweet spot on the underside of the cheek. And yet they served me, turned me on my side to suck on my tits and put slick hands inside me whilst my skin was electric with the pull of needles inside me.
"I'm going to pleasure you as long as you tell me to. Until you want to swim back."
(In this they are my student, even as I hand over control and let them stab me. When I was teaching them, I said "Needleplay is unlike other pain kinks because you can't just immediately stop the sensation. It's like swimming out from the ocean shore. You need to have enough energy to swim back.")
When I did swim back, they already had their strap on. My worshiper twisted some needles on the exit. They wanted me to bleed. On my side with the needled asscheek higher, I could feel the blood drip around the curve, warm on my cunt and they moaned, desperate, pushing it inside me to mix with the slick and juices already there.
When all the needles were out, they didn't pressure the wounds, instead letting me bleed and drip as they panted with need, my supplicant, my worshipper, my torturer. They didn't clean it off or tend. That could come after they'd taken their frenzied ecstasy, railing me from behind. Their hips smacking into my wounded ass and dried blood, a divine counterpoint to the pleasure of them deep inside, and whilst I certainly felt worshiped, I was also helpless and utterly, utterly theirs.